


Slow Jabroni

by stevieraebarnes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Demons Are Assholes, Happy Ending, M/M, Male Slash, Post-Season/Series 05, Pre-Season/Series 06, Road Trips, Self-Reflection, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/pseuds/stevieraebarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his latest run-in with evil gone wrong, Dean takes off to locate Cas who has been missing since the incident. While he searches, Dean realizes that his worry over the angel might be a tad more than that.</p><p>Takes place after season 5 and before season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Jabroni

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic immediately after finishing season 5 when it first aired, which is why the story takes place then. I'm brand new to AO3 and this is my first posting! Any feed back is welcomed :)
> 
> There are mentions of torture. Pretty much everything in this fic are standard of any Supernatural episode, though.

_Take some time to figure it out, cause if you don’t you’re gonna do without - Surfer Blood_

 

The first thing he noticed was his eyes. His own eyes. They were shut. For the split second before opening them, he took a quick inventory of his body. He was lying down and every limb seemed to have feeling. So he snapped open his eyes, knowing that he was ready to take on whatever he saw. He saw Bobby’s familiar study. Everything looked in place. Books on all of the bookshelves, papers scattered all over every surface. He knew already that he was lying on the sofa. Sam sat in a chair against the opposite wall facing Dean. Sam’s eyes were growing wide at seeing his brother awake. Oh, crap. I’ve got Worried Sam running towards me, Dean thought. Sam had lifted himself out of the chair, using his long stride to reach Dean in a matter of a blink.

“Dean! Oh my God, Dean! You’re awake! How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

“Dude,” Dean replied, “I just woke up. One question at a time.”

“Right,” said Sam, backing off. He sat back in a crouch by the sofa, like a catcher anxious for what he knows is going to be a wild pitch headed his way. Dean watched Sam continue to stare at him with Worried Sam face and gave him his own Amused, but Please Stop What You’re Doing Now face.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for you to tell me if you’re okay!”

“Oh, right. I’m okay. A bit fuzzy on the details, but who cares, right? I’m alive. I don’t even feel wounded!”

“That’s amazing,” Sam said. “Really amazing. Especially since what the damage looked like,” he paused to frown, “it looked like nobody else made it out alive. Weird, huh?” Sam paused some more. He let out a frustrated sigh that said he was impatient to find out what happened and asked: “Was anyone with you, Dean?”

“I’m not sure. Like I said, fuzzy on the details.” He tried to remember any details, and realized he couldn’t. Like he had amnesia, or someone had swiped his memories.

“What do you remember about yesterday?” Sam continued.

“You know what, Sammy? How about I answer your questions after I get something to eat. I’m starving.”

When he got to the kitchen, he stood at the refrigerator unsure how to proceed. He was desperate to go about his day in a normal fashion: uncaring, acting like a badass. Except he couldn’t prevent the questions that surged from his depths to force him to acknowledge his confusion over what happened yesterday. He couldn’t believe so little time had passed. When he woke up, he had prepared himself to learn he had been out cold for a week or so. But why he should assume something so drastic, he didn’t know.

He opened the fridge, saw a beer and grabbed it. He didn’t know what to eat so he just closed the door. Dean grabbed the bottle opener on the counter next to the fridge, opened his beer, and took a swig. The beer came off his lips when it hit him: the realization. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling, like dread and uncertainty. He walked back to the sitting room where Sam still sat and said, “Where’s Cas?”

Sam looked at him with brows furled and mouth drawn downwards. “I don’t know,” he responded. “Haven’t seen him in weeks.”

Dean began to pace, his eyes directed at the floor, but not really seeing.

“He’s probably dealing with the mess in heaven. Why? You got a bad feeling?”

“For some reason, I think he was there,” Dean said. “At the warehouse that got demolished, or whatever.”

“Do you remember something?” Sam asked.

“Nah, just a feeling like you said. For some reason, I think that I felt him whooshing past me, or in front of me, or something. You know, that angelic crap he sometimes can or cannot do. Hard to keep track.”

“Do you want to call him?”

“You haven’t tried to get in contact with him?” Dean asked.

“No. That was kind of more your thing.”

“Right,” Dean said, in a somewhat defeated tone. So he gave a meek laugh. “If he’s up in heaven, do you think our cell phones cover that?”

“Maybe try the good old fashioned way; go outside and yell until you’re blue in the face like you used to,” Sam suggested.

Dean smiled. “Yeah, I used to get so pissed off at him sometimes. Now, I’m actually kind of worried about him.”

“Bound to happen. You hang out with someone long enough and they either become your friend or…”

“Or what?”

“We’ll find him.”

Dean turned away from his brother, knowing that he’d never finish his thought. He didn’t have to. The absence of pictures on the fireplace mantle in the study, pictures he remembered taking, told him what Sam was thinking. His mind filled with Jo and Ellen. You either hang out with someone long enough to become friends, he thought, or long enough to see them die. And sometimes, both.

 

Dean walked outside to the glaring junkyard of rusty cars Bobby had collected over the years. The place had become a playground for him, a place for him to strip parts for his Impala whenever she needed some TLC. He moved amongst the non-running vehicles to the spot with some clearance, lifted his face towards the open blue sky, and yelled.

“CAS! ARE YOU UP THERE?! CAS! CASTIEL!”

An hour later, Dean returned to the house to try the cell. He walked upstairs into the room he and Sam were storing their personal belongings. He rifled through his own duffle bag for a cell phone. He found his main cell, and hit a key to see if it was on. The screen lit up and Dean unlocked the keys. He then pressed and held the number four. The phone connected and Dean raised it to his ear, listening to the rings. He heard Cas’ voice play, proclaiming his uncertainty for recording his name, heard his confusion. Dean left the angel a message, although he couldn’t remember if Castiel even knew how to check voicemail.

“Cas, it’s me. Where are you? Call me when you get this, okay?”

He pressed “end” and threw the phone at his duffle bag in frustration, and then picked it up to stuff it in his front pocket. He looked about the room. A twin bed in a maple headboard and footboard stood against the far end wall. A small matching chest of drawers faced the bed from the opposite wall. The chest had a long white lace doily on top with small personal knick-knacks covered in dust. In a corner splayed all over the floor sat his and Sam’s duffle bags. The room’s disuse over time made him feel uncomfortable and he exited immediately upon realizing this.

He found both Sam and Bobby huddled around the desk near the window over a large book.

“Find anything?” Dean asked.

“We’re trying to retrace steps to see if we can jog your memory or anything,” replied Sam.

“Any luck getting a hold of Castiel?” asked Bobby.

“Nope.”

“Well,” continued Sam, “we were going over the spell again. You walked into the warehouse, like an idiot, and the demons were already mid-chanting.”

“I didn’t know that’s where the whole secret society was meeting!” Dean protested. “I saw some suspicious activity and thought I’d investigate!”

“By yourself?” exclaimed Bobby. He then shook his head and muttered “Idjit” under his breath.

“Did you all forget that I used to do this job by myself? Now quit with the commentary and figure this out.”

Sam shook his head. “We’re trying to put together the pieces of what happened, even though you were there and could tell us exactly what happened if you could only remember!”

“Well I don’t, okay? Got any memory spells, Harry Potter?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” said Bobby. “Except it usually goes wrong for us. Why isn’t one of you a witch?”

“Okay,” Sam continued. “We know that you stumbled into a rising ceremony, which I have to admit, was actually a good thing. You interrupted a highly detailed, no substitutes accepted ritual to bring some ancient baddie to the earth.”

“Right, a Lucifer replacement. Great.”

“Exactly. Except you barged in, and…the rest is speculation.”

“I probably kicked some ass.”

“You probably did what you do best, shoot first, ask questions later. And that probably caused the ritual to backlash, cause you were like a disease riddled man walking into a clean room doing state of the art research. Bobby and I were looking over a description of what we think was the spell and it is seriously OCD.”

“So what, it punished its followers for chanting five times instead of three times?” Dean asked.

“I think, that if anything is to go wrong or deviate, the spell acts like a bomb and goes off. Which is why we found the whole place demolished. There were dead bodies everywhere. At least fifty humans that demons had been possessing.” Sam paused. “Jesus, Dean. That is the last time I get us breakfast alone.”

“D’awww. Little Sammy scared his big brother might be hurt?” Dean mocked.

“Might? You were passed out for 24 hours! You have some scratches, but nothing more, which is weird. I don’t understand how you’re alive when no one else survived.”

Dean made a face.

“Oh! But I’m grateful! Glad you’re alive and still awesome and stuff.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “This bromance is getting to me. I’m about to go call for help. I need out of this room.” He stood up and gave a little stretch. He walked out of the room and into the kitchen mock yelling in the distance, “Testosterone! Please deliver yourself to us!”

“Call for help…” Dean began.

“Dean?” Sam started. “You on to something?”

“I called for help.”

“When? At the warehouse? I didn’t get a call. And Bobby didn’t mention anything…” Sam trailed off, but Dean didn’t notice. Dean was lost in thought. Flashes of intermingled images in dull grey and vibrant colors began to bombard his mind. He saw demons leaping at him, he remembers pulling out the knife. He killed a few, he knows that, but then demons were crawling all over him, and they took the knife away; he had been defenseless. They tore at him and began to cut him with their own weapons and demon abilities.

“Where’s the knife?” Dean asked.

“I found it on you. You didn’t use it?”

Dean didn’t understand. It had been wrangled out of his grip.

“I’m starting to remember,” Dean said. “And I don’t understand how you found the demon-killing knife on me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The minute I stepped into that warehouse, I was attacked by demons. I drew the knife and managed to gank a few.” Dean began to pace some more. “Except that the place was crawling with demons and they managed to take the knife away from me.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Dean.” It didn’t make sense to Dean either. None of it did. What happened? he thought. What…help. I called for help. He realized that he had become desperate in his struggle. He was seconds from being killed when he had called out. It had made perfect sense at the time, of course. He had said one word. A name.

“Cas.”

“What about Cas?” asked Sam.

“That’s who I called for help. I was about to die. They had me from every angle, and I couldn’t move. They were holding my wrists, my ankles. So I yelled out Cas’ name.”

He had said his name, like a prayer, a last ditch effort, and he had felt the air stir. He thought he remembered a hand on his head, and then his body didn’t hurt anymore. The images of dull gray and vibrant colors attacked his senses again. They flashed quickly, showing him snippets of the abandoned warehouse, the demons moving about, blood, and then out of nowhere the dulled and the bright were no more. He was staring at khaki.

“I think Cas saved me.”

“Okay, so he’s dealing with a civil war in heaven, but can come on a whim when you call his name,” Sam said sarcastically.

“Like he hasn’t done it before!”

“You’re not his charge anymore, Dean! You can’t just snap your fingers and order your angel slave about!”

Anger clouded Dean’s face. “Yes, I know, I was a dick. I ordered him around to save you. To save Bobby. To save me. We were dealing with the apocalypse, Sammy! And you know what, he was a dick too. But he’s my friend now. He’s our friend.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re right. Sorry. I guess…I guess I’m just feeling guilty that I didn’t think if he was okay sooner. It’s just, he’s an angel and the only thing that can kill an angel is the angel blade that…okay, usually only angels have. But you’re right, he’s been hurt before.”

“Exactly. Remember when we went back in time after Anna? I thought he was going to lose his angel mojo and die. And I thought, Oh no. There goes our special powers. I need to be a better friend than that, even if we aren’t always on the same playing field.”

“He is the other third of Team Freewill after all,” Sam said with a smile. He paused, considering a memory. “I think that’s the moment I started to trust him.”

“Cause he did everything we asked him to do, no matter how crazy it sounded?”

“That, and he seemed to enjoy hanging out with us. He recognized how awesome we are,” laughed Sam. “God, I’m starting to sound like you!”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

They paused, enjoying their own brand of humor, knowing that their closeness was what kept them sane, and that their friends, who at times didn’t understand the wavelength they shared, solidified the blood between them. How many countless times had Sam or Dean pulled a reference to a movie or song or moment in time that they had both personally shared and no one else understood? How many times had they tried to explain their subscription of references to Cas?

As if reading his mind, Sam said: “Hey, remember the ‘Glenn Close’? Cas didn’t understand the reference, but once you explained it to him, he used it colloquially like us? It was still awkward, but it made me laugh that he tried.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, I miss that awkward angel.”

“Sam!” yelled Bobby walking back through the kitchen toward them.

“Yeah, Bobby, still here.”

“Good. I need your help figuring some stuff out.”

“Well, we figured some stuff out too. Dean’s remembered some stuff about yesterday morning.”

“Will it help hide us from demons who are looking for us because we stopped their next big evil to worship from having a birthday party?”

Sam and Dean both stared at him.

“What are you talking about, Bobby?” Dean asked.

“You’re demon enemy number one, again, Dean. And we’re being billed as sidekicks.”

“Disappointing. You two aren’t Bruce Lee or Tonto. Who played Tonto again?”

“Enough,” said Bobby. “Chirp all you want, but we need to get us off the demon map. Which is why I need your help, Sam. Those hex bags…I think we should make some.”

“The ones that Ruby taught me?” Sam smoothed the front pant leg of his jeans. “Uh, we’re going to need some stuff, dark stuff, that you don’t have.”

“Yeah, I looked in one of those things, Bobby. Not pretty,” Dean chimed.

“I figured. So it’s a good thing I know a lot of people. I think we can get the stuff we need…without any bloodshed.”

“Just other people’s bloodshed,” said Dean. “Well then, I’m all for it.”

Bobby ignored him. “Sam, I need you to come with me, since you know what items we need.”

“Yeah, sure, Bobby.”

“Good. Dean? You coming?”

Dean didn’t really want to shop for bloody hex bag ingredients with his ex-demon blood drinking brother.

“I think I’ll hold down the fort while you two get the groceries.”

“That’s a really good idea, Dean,” Sam said, a little too therapeutic. Sometimes the two of them being on the same wavelength was unnerving. Just like the way Castiel could guess his innermost turmoil even though that angel could barely pass as human the way he didn’t understand any of them. Perhaps he’d been mind reading him the whole time…

“All right. Let’s go,” called Bobby. “Dean, leave some beer in the fridge, please?” He picked up his jacket and moved to the front door.

“See you, Dean. When I get back, we’ll figure this all out, okay?”

“Yeah, okay Sam.”

Sam gave him a smile, a smile that said I know you’re worrying about everything, but we’ll get through. We always do. And Sam was right. Dean was worrying about everything.

The first five minutes after they left, Dean stood in the middle of the room. His mind was blissfully blank and he took those five minutes to enjoy it. Then he started pacing. He knew that with Sam and Bobby, and the hex bags, they’d have time to figure out what the hell was going on. Plus, they had the panic room in case of the worst. They were armed, skilled and knowledgeable. He could not, however, say the same about Castiel. He didn’t know where he was, what kind of state he was in, or why he couldn’t reach him. As much as Dean liked keeping the angel around like an ace up his sleeve and pulling out heavenly powers against his enemies, Castiel had become his friend. The angel had joined the hunting group, admitted into the circle of Dean, Sam and Bobby, and also of what used to comprise of Jo and Ellen, too. But Jo and Ellen were dead now. And he had loved them. Ellen, the closest thing to a mother he had, no matter how messed up their relationship was. Jo, he had considered like a sister at first, but later wondered if there could be more. Dean and Jo never got to see where that road would lead. There were only four of them left now, and maybe not even that. He had to find Cas. Dean sat down at Bobby’s desk. The mess of papers was beginning to bother him and Dean shoved them all to the side. Underneath was a phone and Sam’s laptop. He pushed open the laptop and held the power button down. He then looked at the phone while the computer booted up, wondering whom he could call. Then he realized what he could do. It was Tuesday. He looked at the clock, seeing that it was not even noon yet. He tried to reach into his front pocket, but then stood up to pull out the phone he had stashed. He sat back down, looked through his contacts, and found his cell carrier assistance number. He had done it before to track down Sam, why wouldn’t it work for Castiel? He knew the number. He could tell the operator that his son had purchased one of the “to go phones” and now he hadn’t come home from a night out with friends. Did the phone have GPS? Could the operator please turn it on and tell him where he was? That should work right?

It worked. And Dean was glad he had thought of that. He knew that Castiel had been at the warehouse, but Sam didn’t see him there when he recovered Dean. Dean’s first thought was to search the surrounding area. Maybe he had gotten tossed somewhere they hadn’t thought to check? After all, Sam didn’t know the angel had been there. Except the carrier operator told him that Castiel wasn’t anywhere near South Dakota.

 

 

He had left Sam and Bobby a note. Dean, impulsive in everything, couldn’t sit on his ass waiting to debate the news he’d gained. So he left to find the angel immediately without anyone second-guessing his decisions. But mostly, he knew he’d be faster by himself. So he left a piece of paper on the desk with writing: Found out where Cas’ cell is. Went to check on lead. Call you when I stop. He could even picture in his head Sam’s face upon finding the note and Bobby breathing out an “Idjit” for him.

The solitary road proved therapeutic. The first leg of the journey, Dean focused on the road. He drove quickly, efficiently. Driving across the country, Dean may have left the memories in his Impala, but rebuilding the engine was certainly a must. He sacrificed horsepower for fuel mileage, and he was grateful for his intuition. I-90 East was a long stretch. Originally, the Impala could barely make it into the teens for miles per gallon. Now, on a long stretch of highway, she got up to 25. Dean found it a nice compromise. His first stop for gas came still on I-90. He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. He didn’t give his phone a chance to tell him that he’d missed a few calls and pushed the number two.

“Dean!” Sam yelled when he picked up. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch! Where are you?!”

“I know, Sammy. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t wait. I’m headed for Peoria.”

“Which one? Illinois?”

“Yeah, Illinois.”

“God Dean! You couldn’t wait an hour or two for me and Bobby to get back and discuss this? Or to go with you? What were you thinking?!”

“That I couldn’t lose an hour or two waiting. I think he’s in trouble, Sam.”

Sam sighed over the phone. “Yeah, I have a feeling he is, too.”

“Do me a favor, okay? Check out that warehouse and surrounding area for clues? See if anything of worth got blasted around the vicinity. Please?”

“Yeah, you got it, Dean. Just find Cas.”

Dean got back in his baby, and back on the road.

Scenarios played themselves out in his mind, telling him the outcome – all of them horrible – of what had happened to the angel. He imagined arriving in Peoria, only to find out that Castiel wasn’t even there. Dean wondered if Castiel had returned to heaven, possibly even for re-education. Dean began to think of Raphael, and what that bastard of an archangel could have done to his friend. Raphael wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. But if Castiel were to die, probably explode since that was his usual death, God would piece him back together, right? God was rooting for Castiel. And if heaven wasn’t trying to kill him, re-education wouldn’t work anyways. Dean remembered the last time that had happened. Castiel had been on the verge of divulging something he needed to tell Dean. He had looked scared, like revealing this information, this secret, would leave him vulnerable. But he also looked determined. Dean never got to find out what he was going to say though. Castiel had disappeared, only to reappear days later as Zachariah’s little bitch.

Dean remembered first seeing Cas. He had been worried that the angels in heaven had tortured him, possibly even killed him. He didn’t even know why he had been so upset by the thought. They weren’t friends yet, not like now. And Castiel had showed up by Zachariah’s side looking like a soldier and recommitted to the angels’ agenda of douchebaggery. That was at first. But the more Dean had looked at him, tried to plead silently to him for help, Dean noticed that Castiel’s look turned downcast. That he looked leashed. Beaten. A punished puppy. And Dean had used that against him. He insulted Castiel in every way he could think of at the moment. He wanted to hurt him. Told him he didn’t need him. The moment Dean realized he’d sent the angel away, he knew the full sting of his words. At that moment, Dean could only be upset with himself. Dean remembered what happened next; the turning point in his and Cas’ relationship.

Just when Dean had thought that he’d pushed away the only supernatural being sympathetic to his and Sam’s cause, Castiel abruptly reappeared. Suddenly, the angel was standing across from Dean, his eyes determinedly fixed on himself. Dean, out of surprise, began to call out to the angel, but didn’t get any farther. Castiel had flown at Dean, pushing him against the wall of the green room, one hand gripping Dean’s arm, the other pressed firmly against Dean’s mouth effectively silencing the rest of what he was going to say. Dean remembered the shock from the quickness of the actions, the determination of Castiel. He remembered the closeness of the angel, the warmth of his body, his face only an inch away from his own. He remembered staring into his large blue eyes and wondering what the hell is going on? and also not wanting that answer to come right away. The gaze was broken when Castiel’s face shifted slightly. Dean thought to himself as he remembered that night that no one else would probably have even noticed a change in his face; Dean wasn’t even sure why he noticed it. Whatever the reason, Dean had searched Castiel’s eyes for an answer and then realized that the grip on his arm was gone. The angel took a step back and held out a knife. Dean, unsure of who the knife was meant for, a good portion suspected himself, could only watch with his mouth open. Then the angel took the blade to his own forearm and slowly sliced. Red blood seeped out, rolling down his long arm. Castiel’s hand, curled tight into a fist, dropped purposefully at his side. For a moment, Dean had been paralyzed with fear and concern. He wondered if the angel was dying, dying due to rebelling against heaven in order to help an insignificant human with dreams of saving the world. But the angel moved passed Dean and began to paint the wall with his blood, a banishing sigil. He used his blood and banished Zachariah the moment he had come back to torture Dean and Dean remembered thinking that he ought to say something, something meaningful, but he didn’t know the words. His mind was blank. Cas had looked at Dean, really looked at him, with almost a smile. Dean knew that his angel was back, the real one who saved him from perdition not the cold drone of a bastard Zachariah wanted, and that filled Dean with hope that they could win. Then Castiel reached up and put two fingers on Dean’s forehead.

Castiel defying the angels led to the first time he had died and Dean thought he had lost him. He realized, while haulin’ ass to Illinois, that when he found out the angel was gone that first time, he didn’t pay his respects as much as he felt he ought to have. But, they were facing the apocalypse and, thinking about it, he didn’t have the time to lament over another one dead for helping the Winchesters. Plus, Dean knew from experience that Cas was hard to destroy. A piece of him, crazy and delusional probably, clung to the idea that the angel was still out there; even with Chuck’s eyewitness account of Castiel exploding all over the place. Sam had even pulled out a molar from Chuck’s hair. That was one scenario. And probably the best one, Dean thought. Because, yes, if Castiel were to get in trouble with other angels, in heaven, he could handle himself. He’d been resurrected a second time better than ever. Stronger, more angel mojo, or whatever that stuff was. He had brought Bobby back to life after Lucifer had snapped his neck. Bobby had awoken, surprised at life, and still smeared with Castiel’s blood from his second explosion. And, Dean remembered, God was indeed rooting for the angel. But that was all hunky-dory for Castiel being obliterated by his brothers. It said nothing for if the angel was lost or in pain. Or dying. God didn’t care about such earthly problems.

Dean remembered when Castiel had called him from a hospital bed after he had carved a sigil into his own chest and torso, banishing both a group of angels and himself into temporary oblivion. He’d been gone for almost a week and Dean had felt lost during that time. Bobby was doing everything he could to find the answers to their questions, but Dean knew that they needed Castiel’s insider info. And he had needed his heavenly opinion, his heavenly comfort, because the shit was about to hit the fan. The angel had always come through for them, even when it seemed like the boys were screwed beyond help. Cas had always been there. That moment, when Dean found out that his angel was in a hospital bed, drained of his powers, Dean worried that this would be the end of Castiel’s perfect timing to help them out of a jam. And that’s when Dean had felt lost. A few days after that, when Dean was sure he and Sam were about to be killed by the horseman Pestilence, Castiel had showed up. He had taken a bus to get to them. And he was still far from healed. But he had come, and that single fact stuck in Dean’s brain, urging him now to get to Peoria as fast as he could.

Dean remembered when Zachariah had zapped him into the future. As disturbing as that entire event had been, Future Castiel especially, his own Cas had saved him even then. Dean remembered Zachariah about to torture him in an effort to get Dean to say yes to Michael, and then suddenly he’s standing on the side of the road with Castiel smiling at him. We had an appointment, he had told Dean. Dean had never before been so glad to see him. The situation may not have been as dire as some of Castiel’s other timings, but the warm knowing smile on the angel’s face when he saw Dean’s look of incredulity was a look that Dean often saw whenever he thought of the angel. Castiel had always been there for him. And not just for him, but for Sam and Bobby too. Even the abominable Future Castiel had stuck with Dean and his cause. Why had Future Cas stayed by his side? Why had he remained when every other angel had left and instead fought for Dean? Died for Dean? It was a devotion he’d only seen in Sam, and sometimes more so. That future version of the angel had endured falling to the lowliness of humans, and had sought their vices as means of a reward to keep himself trudging in the shit of the apocalypse.

Dean knew even more that he had to find Castiel soon. What was it about the angel? Dean figured there had to be something in Castiel saving him from hell that motivated Dean to trust the angel more than he would anyone else, especially that quickly. Dean’s shoulder bore proof, a mark of Castiel’s. Dean was branded. And he had ordered Cas about like a servant. And the angel had often responded with an "of course, your needs come first".

Dean stopped the flashbacks. Instead, he repeated silently to himself that he hoped that Cas knew that he was coming for him. He hoped that Cas knew that this time, the angel’s needs come first.

_Cas, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m coming for you. I haven’t forgotten._

Dean hoped his prayer reached him.

The techie over the phone had given Dean an approximate location: downtown Peoria. North side. When Dean arrived, he didn’t sense any nefarious plotting. The area looked a bit touristy, with the Riverfront aiming to please.

He pulled in to a space near a park and got out of the Impala. He needed to stretch his legs, see the area up close. Maybe overhear something that would lead him to his angel. Dean walked over what he believed would be the beginning of a couple block radius. He didn’t want to miss anything. Walking past the buildings, Dean kept himself ready for cold spots, weird writing on outer walls, anything supernatural. It was all he had.

The second time around his perimeter, Dean started to walk into every building. He opened the doors, walked into what was usually a lobby of a business or hotel, a coffee shop, restaurant, vinyl store. He looked at the people he saw with a glare. He studied the décor of every place. He pulled out his EMF, and looked and smelt for sulfur. He canvassed as thoroughly as he had been trained.

After finishing a sweep of what looked like a bank, Dean found a chair in the lobby and sat down. He wondered what would happen if he never found Cas. He wondered what was happening to him. He wondered if the angel was just ignoring Dean. Maybe Castiel was tired of stepping in for Dean, taking care of a man who used him thanklessly. A man whose emotions he didn’t extend beyond Sam. But that wasn’t true. Except, how do you tell an angel of the Lord thank you or I appreciate what you do for me or stay awhile and hang out with us. Stay. Be with me.

Dean loved it when Cas tried his hand at a joke. Cas always failed miserably, but that made it funny, which then made it a good joke. He could remember the way Cas tried so hard not to let them down. He remembered taking the angel to a, what did he call it? A den of iniquity. He sent him on his way to embark on humanly pleasures. Dean remembered the woman’s yell, and Cas standing in the hallway. His tie even more askew, his shirt and coat ruffled. His hair looked like she’d run her hands through them. Dean couldn’t stop looking at his disheveled self. And he of course wanted to know what had happened. Had the angel hurt her?

When Cas told him about the therapy session, Dean laughed. He just laughed. Laughed at such a Cas moment. Of course he wouldn’t actually have sex with her. He would try to comfort her, heal her. And that made him laugh even more. Of relief. Relief that she didn’t ruffle anything more than his hair and outer clothes. Cas deserved better. Better than her, someone who didn’t even know what he was. What he was capable of. The goodness he did for them all, even against the strictest of orders from heaven at times. Dean then thought of Cas’ face when he had been resurrected after Sam fell into the cage. After they beat the devil. Cas looked down at Dean with that smile, the Cas smile. Simple and soft, nothing gloating or flashy. The angel put his fingers to Dean’s forehead, healing him of all injuries. Dean kneeled there in awe. His Cas, back from the dead, in all his glory. Dean had asked if Cas was God. And Castiel had given him his quiet laugh, the one that said don’t be ridiculous and thank you at the same time. Dean remembered thinking that Castiel was beautiful. And he didn’t feel weird or ashamed. He just felt happy. They had won. And it was as he was thinking about his angel that they took him.

 

 

For the second time that day (he thought it was still that day, maybe not), Dean took inventory of his limbs and opened his eyes. This time, he was tied to a chair. He didn’t know where he was. It looked like a basement of a commercial building. Dean thought he might still be in the radius of his canvas and that maybe Castiel was close by. He turned his head as far as he could in both directions. He couldn’t see any sign of life. He saw a few doors, none looked like they actually exited the building or led to stairs. He could hear a noise behind him, it was light, but sometimes there was a faint crackling. And he could smell smoke. Dean tested out the rope, tethering his wrists to the chair he sat in. The knots were well done.

Dean heard footsteps and craned his neck to see who was approaching.

“Oh good. You woke up. This was getting boring.”

The man, dressed in a light grey tweed suit with a rich chocolate tie flashed his eyes to reveal the blackness.

“Now, what to do with you,” he continued. “This has come sooner than I expected!” He circled around Dean, assessing his prisoner. “You see, oh actually you can’t, I’ve captured myself a known associate of yours. We’ve been trying to extract information of your whereabouts from him…we’ve been meaning to pay you a visit for your disruption,” he smiled at Dean with a practiced business man’s smile. “I didn’t think we’d find you so soon! It’s been what, two days? I thought it would take at least a week, especially since your friend won’t wake up. I thought that my associates would have to torture him for information…instead they’re torturing him just to bring him to consciousness! Disappointing really. I didn’t expect to get much out of him to begin with, since he’s of the angelic species, but come on! He won’t even wake up! I thought angels were supposed to smite things! This one can’t even recover from the blast!”

He paused and walked away from Dean. He stopped and gave a shrug of his shoulders. Then he turned back to the Winchester.

“But you never know…about the angels I mean. Who’s to know their agenda? Since when have humans been of import to them? Maybe this one isn’t so important either. So we keep trying at it. Keep trying to wake him so that he will talk. But he won’t wake up. Must’ve been a bad trip.”

Dean stared at the man throughout his entire speech. He had so many questions. He was frantic, and close to madness. He was in a situation with a bleak outcome. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even speak. And he didn’t know where Cas was, though he knew the demon was talking about him. He strained against his bonds some more, trying to will his brain to work at the same time.

“Bad trip,” started Dean, realizing he needed information, anything to reveal something of use to him. “What are you talking about? Are you saying that the blast at the warehouse sent him somewhere?”

“Definitely,” smirked the demon. “We traced him to a place near here, but before that he was gone.”

“What do you mean trace?” Dean heard more footsteps approaching from behind.

“Oh, right. You don’t know about them.” The demon addressed looking over Dean’s shoulder, past him, and continued, “They’re a bit busy. Working every second since the angel arrived 24 hours ago. I just gave them the go-ahead to use the pliers on him…I want to be thorough. Pliers had seemed so basic at the time, but my comrades have proven creative.” The demon watched Dean’s face carefully. On either side, another man and a woman circumvented around Dean and stood next to Demon Number One to face the prisoner.

“Is he here for…” asked the woman.

“No,” the first demon said strictly. “He’s here for something else I think.” The demon squinted his eyes at Dean and then continued, “I underestimated you. Seems to me that you do care for others besides that brother of yours. You came here looking for someone, am I right?”

“Where is he,” Dean said quickly. He needed to see him. His mind threatened to explode from the anger, the fear, the helplessness, and the strategic planning threatening to take away all emotions. And he couldn’t stand the pussyfooting. They all knew he was here, somewhere. Dean needed to see the coat. He needed to see those intense eyes, the ones that tell Dean that someone else cares just as much about the evil walking the earth as he does. He needed clarity.

The demon in charge motioned to the other two with his hand and said, “Turn him around.” They heaved Dean and chair 180 degrees and he got his answer. Lying in a heap some thirty feet in front of him was the khaki trench coat covering most of his form, with a couple legs in black dress pants and dress shoes coming into focus.

Dean couldn’t see his head or arms. It looked like he was lying in the fetal position. He was also surrounded by what looked like holy fire.

“What did you do to him,” Dean said in a thundering voice.

“Does it bother you that we’ve cut you off from heaven? No more heavenly powers for Dean Winchester to wield. Powers that you do not deserve.”

“And how does that answer my question? What did you do to him?!”

“We didn’t do anything to him. Well, we didn’t put him into that state. As I was saying earlier, we did, however, try some methods you might frown upon to wake him up. Or maybe not. You did love to torture, yourself.”

Dean took a moment to calm himself. He felt his lungs hyperventilating, his blood rising. He was starting to feel dizzy. He didn’t think he’d see it. He knew what the demon had been saying. They’d all been tortured at some point. But this…

“That’s sick. You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Oh, I know he’s an angel and that seems so wrong to you for one to be tortured, but they’re tough, we can assure you. With our own personal experience. We still haven’t gotten him to wake up.”

“How did you find him? How did he get here?”

“We demons are fantastic at tracking anyone. Especially when we can slip a little something into their pockets…we couldn’t find him for a while though. Not sure why. He seemed to be nowhere. But then he popped up here and we came for him.”

“Why? Why him?”

“My followers didn’t know who they had when they put the tracer in his pocket. In addition to raising our faithful master – he’ll be much better than Lucifer, I promise – we’re also in the business of ridding the world of the Winchesters.” He nodded to his two companions and went on, “These two thought that the trench coat man could give us information as to your whereabouts. They didn’t know who they had captured.” He looked over at the unconscious figure in a circle of fire. “But, like I said, he arrived that way. These two didn’t have to do anything. And they tried waking him by every means possible.” He smiled, glaring his evil happiness into Dean’s face.

Dean felt sick, imagining the demons cutting and stripping at Cas as he lay helpless. What would he wake up to?

“He hasn’t woken,” the demon continued. “As soon as I came to see him for myself, I realized who this was.”

The female companion leered at Dean. “We’ve got the great Castiel, don’t we?”

The demon in charge corrected: “This one calls him Cas.”

Dean's sick feeling swelled. And he needed to hear more. He needed to know exactly what happened, and he needed time to continue to think of a plan.

“We’ve heard rumors of holy fire and of course we obtained some to imprison him, should he awake. Now we only wait to come across the weapon that will kill him. Oh! And of course you’re here now, so we get to kill you as well. Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. And good riddance.”

The main demon turned his back on Dean, and skirted around the holy fire towards a back corner of the building. Dean heard the sound of a door click open and then whoosh closed. The male and female tag team stepped closer to the bound hunter.

Suddenly, Dean was on the floor. The chair had tipped over from the sucker punch the female had given him. This was followed by a kick to the chest by the male. They tipped his chair back up and hit him again. And again. And again. Dean responded every time. The chair, wooden, cracked. Splintered. The female took out a knife from her jacket pocket. Dean’s knife. The one that kills demons. She approached Dean with caution.

“You’re going to die,” Dean Winchester said to them. And then he stood up and lunged.

The three of them circled each other until the male lashed out first. Dean sidestepped his attack, and immediately went after the girl who held the knife. Dean managed to overpower her and wrangle the knife from her grasp. The man was the first to receive the knife in his chest as he leapt at Dean’s back to tear him off the girl. The female tried to take a step back, rework the situation to her favor. Dean lunged with the knife into the girl, missing and allowing himself into her clutches. She delivered a blow to the side of his head, but couldn’t knock him off his feet. Dean swung around and managed to get an arm around her shoulders. He pulled her to him, raised the knife, and stabbed her without mercy before she could leave the body. Before she could scream.

He took off her jacket and then let her fall to the ground. Dean walked to the circle of fire and placed the jacket on the ring. He stepped inside. He walked around to see Castiel’s face. It was covered in blood and Dean could see a deep wound on the side of his forehead. But Dean didn’t linger. They needed to move. He worked his way to Castiel’s jacket. He searched the pocket face up. When he didn’t find anything, Dean rolled the angel onto his back and checked the other pocket. Dean pulled out the hex bag and tossed it next to the angel. Dean then checked his own jacket pockets and found no hex bag on him.

Dean lowered himself into a crouch next to Castiel. He grabbed his wrist to pull him up, then put his shoulder to Castiel’s chest. He placed his other hand under the angel’s thigh and heaved. Dean straightened, making sure he wasn’t compromised enough from the hits to the head and body to fail in escaping. Dean found himself steady, and with Castiel over his shoulder, walked to the exit the demon whose name Dean didn’t know had taken and took the staircase to the first floor, and exited the building with strange looks from the patrons of a large bank.

Dean walked the half a block back to the park, back to the Impala. It was dusk, and the flurry of people on the street slowed his process. Several of the pedestrians asked what was wrong. Why was he carrying that man. Why was he covered in blood. Does he need an ambulance. Dean told him he got into a fight and that Dean was taking him to the hospital right away. He repeated this to everyone who enquired. At the end, another man actually helped get Castiel into the back on the Impala. Dean muttered his thanks and took off as quickly as he could.

Dean drove as far back to South Dakota as possible. The plan was to drive. And keep driving. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to get back to Bobby’s as soon as possible. 100 miles down. 200 miles down. And then, in the dead of night, Dean heard a small noise from the back of his Impala. He pulled over, almost at Waterloo of Iowa, leaping out of the driver’s seat and throwing open the door to the back. One foot in, one foot still on the asphalt, Dean leaned over the angel.

“Cas?”

Castiel let out what sounded like a groan.

“Cas, it’s me. Wake up.” He grabbed his arm and gave him a shake. Castiel let out an unmistakable whimper. “Jesus, Cas! I’m sorry! I won’t do that again. Can you talk? What do you need?” Dean rattled off hoping that the right combination of questions might incite the angel to wake and converse. Still, the angel did not open his eyes or speak.

“Okay. I’m going to start driving again, but I’m gonna stop when I see a place for us to crash. Just hang on, buddy.”

Dean aborted the back seat and swapped back for the wheel. Thirty-five miles down the dark highway Dean found his rest stop. He drove into a well-used motel promising cable and internet. Dean didn’t care about either. He left Castiel in the car as he went inside the manager’s office for a room. He asked for a single room, two beds and immediately a key for room 12 was thrust into his hand. He told the desk person he could find his own accommodations and left. He parked the car right in front of number 12 and opened her up. Finding the room satisfactory he ran out to grab the unconscious angel. Dean opened the passenger door and put his hands underneath Castiel’s shoulders.

“Okay, time to move you,” he warned. The angel cried out this time at being hauled off by Dean, who had twisted Cas up and over his shoulder into a fireman’s hold. Dean walked over the threshold of their motel room and shut the door. Dean carefully dropped Castiel onto the double bed farthest from the entrance, closest to the bathroom.

And then he went to work. He grabbed all of the towels and washcloths from the bathroom and laid them down next to the angel’s unmoving self. Then he turned his full attention to the invalid. He opened Cas’ coat, which was torn and bloody. The dress jacket underneath was not as torn, but just as bloody. Dean opened that too, pushing as much fabric away to clear the area. Dean loosened the askew tie Castiel always wore and completely removed it. It was strange to work on the angel this way, the angel who always wore these articles. Dean removed them with reverence. Next, Dean unbuttoned the white dress shirt. It wasn’t white anymore, instead a dirty shade of blood. His hands slid down Castiel’s torso, one by one unfastening each button in a calculated manner. When Dean arrived at the last one, he paused. Resting his hands on Cas’ belt, button still clutched in hand, Dean sucked in a breath of air. He undid the shirt and braced himself to witness the torture Castiel had endured. The blood had caked onto his chest and stomach. Dean grabbed a couple of the washcloths and ran to the bathroom to run them under water. He returned, immediately resuming his position of sitting at the bedside. Slowly, Dean lowered the cloth and began to wipe at the skin. Castiel flinched at the tug at his body, but still did not open his eyes or give any indication of consciousness.

Dean continued to mop up, revealing cuts and gouges all over his person. He then placed a towel over him, sopping up what was still flowing while using it to apply pressure. Dean realized that by not actually fully removing the clothing, he had no idea what condition Castiel’s arms were in. Or his legs. But legs, he could deal with. He moved to the foot of the bed and began to remove the dress shoes and socks. Free of footwear, Dean returned to the torso. He undid the belt, pant button, and zipper. Gripping at the hips, Dean pulled down the pants, proving difficult as Castiel sat on them, forcing Dean to put some muscle into the operation to get the clothing past his ass. From there, Dean moved back to the feet, and pulled the trousers completely off. The first thing Dean noticed was the kneecaps. They looked wrong. As Dean peered closer, he realized they were shattered. Castiel’s shins and calves bore more gouges and lesions. He got to work cleaning these, opening up his duffle bag that always carried a hunter’s medical necessities. Dean prayed they would help.

After cleaning most of Castiel’s wounds and wrapping his knees, Dean pulled the bedclothes over his friend in an effort to make him comfortable. Dean had managed to finally shimmy the angel out of his coats and shirt and had given him a thorough once over. Now he let him rest, hopeful that once Cas was rested he’d be able to heal himself back to before any of it had happened. Dean settled himself onto the other double bed. This came, of course, after his ritual of salting the door and window. He turned on the TV, turning out all of the lights save for a small lamp on the side of his bed farthest from Castiel. Dean’s eyes flickered between the late night programming and the angel’s still self. He kept watch for hours, until finally submitting to sleep.

 

 

“Dean.”

Dean woke up to Castiel standing over him. The TV and lamp were off, and though the curtains to the window were drawn, Dean could see light invading at the carpet beneath.

“Cas,” he said softly. The angel was fully dressed, back in his trench coat and askew tie. Dean sat up, feeling dizzy immediately afterwards and had to close his eyes and put his head in his hands for a few seconds. Then he looked back up to make sure this indeed was reality. Castiel smiled at him.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked. “You look like nothing even happened to you.”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry it took so long for me to heal, but you have witnessed before what happens when I’m drained.”

“Yeah, I got it Cas. But, are you okay?”

“Yes, I am fine,” Castiel repeated, but with a quizzical look that said he didn’t understand how Dean could have not found his previous answer acceptable.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I can see that you’re healed, and good for you, man. It’s just,” Dean paused, not sure how to continue or if he wanted to. “I went over your injuries. I know that you were tortured. I saw it.”

“I was not conscious of it at the time.”

Dean could see that the implication was lost on the angel. “Well, as long as you’re okay. But if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m, uh, I’m here for you.”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, “I want to thank you. You…”

Dean stood up abruptly, pulling the angel in for a hug. “Don’t worry about it,” he said over Castiel’s shoulder. “Team Freewill, remember?”

Dean felt Cas relax at the mention of their inside joke, one that the angel was not initially in on, and settle into the tight embrace. Dean then took a step back, hands on the angel’s shoulders, and looked him square in the eye.

“Want to get some food? I’m starving.”

“Dean…” Castiel began.

There was something off in his voice, but Dean’s happiness glazed over.

“Yeah, come on! Let’s get some food! And you look pretty healthy and what not, but I’ve got a long drive ahead of me and you’re welcome to join me even though you could just transport yourself instantaneously.”

Dean’s happiness at Castiel being alive and well kept him rambling. He didn’t even take in the wide eyes of fear from his friend. “But seriously,” he continued, “you should hang out with us. Take a vacation from heaven, huh?”

Dean tugged open the door and was genuinely surprised to meet three demons standing there. One of the demons, he’d seen him earlier, threw something at him. Then there was a loud boom! and then blackness.

 

 

_Damnit! I’m tired of blacking out!_

Dean’s return to consciousness was a slow and confusing progress. There seemed to be more to take in than his brain could handle and he was experiencing sensory overload. Sounds, movements, rumbling, wetness, emotion. All of these plus more were attacking him and Dean decided to start with one item at a time. He kept his eyes closed as usual until he took inventory of his body. He had a massive headache, plus his chest and right leg were throbbing in pain. At first he thought he was tied up to a chair again, except he was half sitting half lying on the floor of something. He was wrapped to something that he couldn’t identify at first. His bonds across his shoulders and torso seemed inconsistent. It fluctuated between tight and loose. Dean then realized that whatever he was wrapped to also moved a bit at times. It was solid, but it seemed to sway a little every now and then, Dean moving along with it. It also seemed to be talking. That was the rumbling Dean heard and felt. And he realized that it was Cas gripping him to himself.

“Castiel, you have to come back with us,” someone said.

“No.”

“Listen, I helped you out here. We demolished them. It’s time to come back.” Dean felt the bonds around him, Cas’ arms, grow tighter.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine! Come on, Castiel! Just leave him! His brother can be here in a few hours. He’s not going to die.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Castiel maintained.

“Fine. Somebody has to return to heaven and win the war. Come find me when you return to your senses.”

“No. Heaven is irrelevant in the matters of purging evil from earth. You go back, and fight your petty war. Settle it for yourselves. I want to spend time with my other brothers, doing actual good.”

“What? Live here? With the mud monkeys?”

“We are made of the same matter, us and them. Except their freewill and vigilance is most persuasive.”

The other angel gave a scowl. “Goodbye Castiel. I pray to God that you change your mind.”

There was a faint whoosh sound and Dean knew that he was gone. Dean opened his eyes. He saw that he was lying in a field of what looked like Wyoming. He heard Castiel let out a sigh.

“Well, you showed him,” said Dean.

Castiel pulled Dean a bit closer to him. “Dean. I’m glad you’re awake.”

Dean relaxed and sank into the open trench coat. Castiel tilted his head to rest the side of his face in Dean’s hair. They sat there for a moment in silence. Finally, the angel spoke.

“I have found it difficult to heal you. I believe I am still healing myself.”

“It’s okay Cas. I’ll get better.” Dean slumped into silence again. He could feel Cas’ chest rise and fall from breathing. Could feel Cas’ arms against him like a security blanket. One of Cas’ hands gripped the shoulder with his handprint. The other gripped the side of his waist.

“Cas, what are we doing out here?”

“You mean, why are we here instead of at the motel?”

“Yeah.”

“I moved us to an empty field to avoid damage. And I called on Virgil to assist us. We took care of those three, plus the other one who you and I had met earlier. They were no match against two angels.”

“Conscious angels, anyways,” muttered Dean.

“Yes, you seem very concerned about that.”

“I don’t like what they did to you.” Dean turned to wrap his own arms around the angel and burrow his face into Cas’ chest. Castiel began smoothing Dean’s back.

“Thank you, Dean. But I really am okay. I’m more concerned for your own state.”

“It was worth it.” Dean released his grip on Castiel and pushed himself into a sitting position. He saw that Cas had a confused look on his face.

“I came out here, well, not here, to find you. You saved me at the warehouse and then you were nowhere. As soon as I got a lead on where you were I started driving.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you, Dean Winchester.”

“I want to take care of you too,” Dean said softly. “You’re my friend, and it’s time I start acting like it.”

Castiel gave another quizzical look. “Your friend…” He looked at Dean and then bit his lip. Dean watched his expression, unsure of what was going on in Cas’ mind.

“Cas?” he called. Dean struggled with himself. He knew there was something that needed said. From both of them. He knew that something was bubbling up inside him and that his previous dealings with the angel could change as a result. And he could hear Sam’s voice nagging at him to talk about all of it with Castiel. Instinct repulsed at the idea, but Dean had learned what happened when things were left unsaid. It meant a loved one choosing someone else. Choosing a path that Dean didn’t want, that the other person didn’t really want either. Dean didn’t want him and Cas to go through that either.

“Do you want to talk?” Dean attempted.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Ok, well, I want you to know something…I, I care about you.”

“Like you care for Bobby? Or even for Sam?” He sounded hopeful.

“No. Well, yes, but no. I care for you as much as I care for them, but differently…damnit, I don’t know how to say this.” Dean looked at Castiel, seeing the confusion on his face, plus a hint of anxiety. He decided to show Cas what he was trying to say. He reached a hand out to the side of Castiel’s head, feeling the soft brown hair. His fingers stretched to curl around the base of his neck and gently pulled him towards himself. Dean leaned in and kissed Cas, full pressure, right on the mouth. After a few seconds, Dean relaxed his grip and looked at the angel, searching for his response.

“Cas? Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

“You said you care about me.”

“Yes.”

A small smile crept over Castiel’s face. “Dean I have cared for you since the moment I found you in hell.”

“Cas, I’m trying to say ‘I love you.’”

The angel pulled Dean back into an embrace.

“I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Title of this work is from the same song by Surfer Blood :)


End file.
